Putting the Dean in 'Deanmon'
by Zana Zira
Summary: Post-10x03: Dean Winchester may not be famous for his brains, but that doesn't mean he lacks them. It just means that no one knows how cunning he truly is, especially now that he's a demon. And doubting Dean's ability to outmaneuver Sam and Castiel is going to turn out to be a terrible mistake in the long run. Season 10 speculation fic, sick!Dean, demon!Dean.


**Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.**

**A/N: *SPOILERS FOR 10x03 AHEAD!* Okay, so the ending of this episode threw me a little. Something seems off about Dean, but I can't say exactly what. This fic is a depiction of what my instincts tell me may be going on. Please read and tell me what you think. **

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><p>Dean Winchester had never been considered especially smart. Sam was the straight-A student, the college-boy, the researcher, the legacy to the Men of Letters. Dean was the good soldier, the high school-dropout, the dimwitted but loyal bruiser who depended on his dad or his kid brother for directions. Sam was the chosen one; Dean was just more readily available. No one had ever thought Dean was intelligent enough to be dangerous, and that was their biggest mistake.<p>

Right now, Sam was off drinking himself under the table, no doubt emotionally drained after forcing his brother back from the path of evil and saving his own life in the process. Castiel was lurking around town with that mysterious "female" of his, no doubt wanting to keep an eye on Dean and Sam and make sure everything was really alright. And Dean? Dean was sitting alone in his room, putting on the perfect act of confused innocence while he thought of the most efficient way to kill them both.

He wasn't blind; he had known the instant Castiel grabbed him from behind that the angel was back at nearly full strength. Whatever he had done to acquire more grace, it made him more of a formidable foe than the mostly-humanized Dean could handle alone. So, like the cunning bastard he was, Dean had simply rolled over and played dead. He let Sam and Castiel inject more blood into him, over and over until he thought they were trying to turn him into a meaty pincushion. It hurt, burned like Hell actually (and he would know), but that's all. Dean was still a Knight of Hell – weakened, yes, but no less vengeful for it.

Now, all that was left to do was wait. Sam was too overwhelmed with emotion right now to see anything off about his older brother. Anything _resembling_ human would be enough to fool him until some of the human blood wore off and his strength began returning. It was the angel that was going to be an issue. Castiel clearly didn't trust Dean's transformation yet; the former hunter had seen enough of those creepily staring blue eyes in his life to read the angel like a book. If he was going to play them as long as it would take for Castiel's grace to weaken and his own humanity to disappear, it was going to take a lot of acting.

_"Good thing I'm already being forced into some practice, then," _he thought as he clutched onto the bathroom sink, panting harshly as the pain of killing withdrawals surged through his veins and made his insides feel like they were filled with molten metal. A spasm of agony tore through him and he doubled over, retching and spitting a mouthful of blood into the white porcelain basin. Oh, what he would give to have the Blade in his hand for just a few minutes…

A faint knock sounded at the door.

"Dean?" Sam asked, voice a little slurred but still filled with all that annoying concern he was known for. "You okay in there?"

Dean curled his lips back in a snarl, allowing his eyes to flash black for the briefest instant since he knew no one could see. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and then made his voice shake a little, like a sick Human Dean's would.

"Yeah Sammy, I'm good. Burger just didn't sit well, I guess. Must've been too much too soon."

Sam hummed his agreement from the other side of the door.

"Well, the Pepto's in the cabinet up above the sink. Take it easy tonight and I'll fix something that's easy on your stomach in the morning, okay?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Dean waited until Sam's drunkenly stumbling footsteps retreated down the hallway, and then grabbed onto the edge of the sink so hard that the porcelain squeaked with strain; a little more force and it probably would have cracked. It had taken all the restraint the demon had in him not to bust through the door and paint the walls red with his little brother's blood. This wasn't going to work; if he wanted to keep up the façade well enough to keep Sam and Castiel from getting suspicious, he was going to need to kill, and soon.

"Hey, Sam?" he asked as he cracked the bathroom door slightly. Why hadn't he thought of this before?

"Yeah?" Sam asked, turning around with that sickening puppy-dog expression of worry on his face. "You need something?"

"You think maybe, uh, we could visit that diner down the street in the morning for breakfast? I've tasted your cooking, man, and I'm pretty sure if I'm sick now that won't help anything."

Sam stared at him for a moment, eyes wide as if in shock, and then threw back his head and laughed, loud and relieved.

"Yeah, sure we can. Get some rest before then, okay?"

"Okay."

Dean shut the door again, and for the first time all night his lips turned up in a true smile. He'd only need a few minutes to do this tomorrow; a quick trip to the "bathroom" with a waitress or two and the Mark's hunger would be sated for a while.

"Soon," he muttered, licking away another drop of blood dripping from between his teeth. "Soon."


End file.
